


Operation Man Flu

by cher



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Season/Series 01, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-21 18:48:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9562031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cher/pseuds/cher
Summary: Lucifer has a cold. The world is ending. One of these things is metaphorical.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cutiesonthehorizon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cutiesonthehorizon/gifts).



Chloe should have known better than to answer her phone without checking the caller ID. In her defense, it was Sunday morning after a long, long week, and she’d only just pried her eyes open. Half of Homicide had been out with a vicious cold and the other half were probably about to come down with it, and so she’d been working overtime. So far, she’d been safe from The Cold (it had earned capital letters at this point), but she desperately needed a rest day.

So she was not at her best when she groped for her phone. “Decker,” she mumbled, rubbing sleep out of her eyes.

It was Maze, fully awake and pissed off with the world. “You have to do something,” she hissed. “I’d kill him myself if I could. And this is your fault!”

Chloe dropped her face into her hand and whimpered silently. She did not need Lucifer shenanigans on her day off. Trixie was with her grandmother and hopefully quarantined from The Cold. Chloe had an *entire day* of nothing planned. Lucifer should be able to look after himself for just one day, but … well, she knew nothing was out of the realm of possibility with him. She sighed. “What’s the problem, Maze?”

“You. Infecting him with your mortal plagues. He’s useless, and disgusting like this, and he keeps asking for me for things, and I’m not looking after him any more. You broke him, you fix him.”

Chloe massaged her temple. “Wait, so you’re saying Lucifer has The Cold?” God, she could hear the capitalisation. She needed more sleep.

Maze’s glower was impressive even through the phone. “I don’t know what he has. He won’t get up, he’s whining constantly, and he’s dripping everywhere. Disgusting and pathetic. Fix him, Detective.”

“He’s just got what’s going around at the precinct. He’ll be fine in a few days, Maze.”

“If I have to spend another minute in the same room as him right now, I will burn down this club.”

Chloe believed her. She wasn’t without sympathy; man flu was a terrible thing for a bystander to cope with. And she supposed Lucifer did get sick because he was helping her. She could fulfil her goals of ‘do nothing’ with Lucifer as well as she could by herself, she guessed, even if he was going to drive her to violence with his whining. She could tell already.

“Okay, Maze. I’ll come over. Leave the matches alone.”

  
  
*

He did look terrible. Against her better judgement, Chloe felt sorry for him. Hair curling every which way, red-rimmed eyes, pale skin and red, stuffy nose. He was surrounded by a pile of discarded … were those silk handkerchiefs?... and apparently he’d run out of them and had to move on to paper tissues like the rest of the plebs. He was a pathetic sight, wrapped in his thin black robe and shivering in his bed.

“Detective?” he croaked, as he reached for another tissue. He seemed almost… embarrassed? Well, he did like to look his best, she supposed.

“Hi, Lucifer. Maze called me. Sorry you came down with this as well. I brought us some movies to watch,” she said, holding the DVDs up for him to see.

“Oh…that was kind of you, Detective, but I’m not up to much. I don’t know how you humans bear this, it’s awful.” He had to pause to wipe his nose and cough. “I mean, plagues are all very traditional, but I had no idea how truly wretched they are from this side.”

“It’s just a cold, Lucifer. A bad one, sure, but you’ll be fine a couple of days. No need to drive Maze to arson.”

“Ugh, I can’t even muster any excitement at the idea of a good fire. Really, you suffer through this often?”

“Have you really never had a cold, Lucifer? Everyone gets them.”

“Devil. Immortal. Unless I’m near *you*, and then apparently I can get not only shot but deathly ill. Full of surprises, you are.”

He looked so simultaneously outraged and mournful that she had to smother a giggle. It wasn’t nice; it really did look like a bad cold. She put the back of her hand to his forehead, and snatched it back again with a gasp. “You’re burning up! Have you taken anything to keep your fever down?”

He blinked at her, and absently touched his forehead where her hand had been. “Oh, you don’t need to worry about my feeling hot to the touch, Detective,” and he tried to give her a leer, but he looked so miserable it didn’t have its usual effect.

“Oh yes I do. That is not normal skin temperature, Lucifer.”

“It is for me. Naturally hot. Ask Maze or Linda if you don’t believe me. Or find out for yourself when I’m not so disgusting. Ugh,” he said again, glaring halfheartedly at his pile of handkerchiefs and tissues.

She eyed him suspiciously, and sent Maze a quick text, hoping hard that she wasn’t being set up for a good laugh. //I’m checking for a fever. Is Lucifer’s skin always hot to the touch?//

“Well, even if that *is* normal for you, we should get you something to keep your temp down. You’ll be more comfortable. What have you had today?”

He looked uncertain. “I’m fairly sure you don’t mean whiskey?”

Sometimes, Chloe genuinely could not tell if he was having her on. It was usually her policy to pretend he wasn’t, though. “Drugs, from *the drugstore*. Cold medicine. Nyquil. Sudafed?”

He was still looking at her uncertainly when her phone chimed. //His skin felt the same as ever when I smacked him this morning. He is hot, usually. [devil emoticon]// Chloe huffed.

“Okay, so, no drugs?”

He shook his head, and Chloe appreciated that he didn’t make a crack (ha!) about the cocaine she pretended she didn’t know about. Then again, perhaps he really was feeling that bad.

“What do you have here, then?” She knew there was a first aid kit around downstairs - it was a bar and broken glass did happen - but she didn’t know where to start looking in the penthouse.

“Um. Nothing, except perhaps in the break room downstairs?”

“You don’t have anything? What, do you never get a headache?”

He huffed a laugh that turned into a cough. “Frequently if my family are around, but mortal drugs don’t work on me very well. Although maybe they would if you were with me. Hmm. I should try that.”

Chloe could see that line of thought going nowhere fast. She headed it off. “Right, in that case, would you like to come over to my place? I am fully stocked with cold medicine. You can sit on the couch and we can watch bad movies until you pass out. I’ll even make you soup.”

He got that wondering, vulnerable look he did sometimes, like he couldn’t believe that someone was considering his feelings. It was always over something minor, and generally after he’d behaved outrageously - as if he owned the world - about five minutes before. It hurt her heart, and she probably let him get away with more than she ought to, because of it.

“But I wouldn’t want Beatrice to succumb to this. It must be worse for a tiny human.”

She smiled and patted his hand. “It’s fine, she’s with her grandmother. What do you say, sick day on the couch? I’ll drive.”

And he lit up slowly, a real smile even through the misery of the cold. The Cold. She hoped he’d look after her in turn when she inevitably got it. (Maybe she shouldn’t hope that. Goodness knew what he’d decide nursing entailed.)

Chloe helped him out of bed and shooed him into his closet. “No suits, Lucifer! Lounging wear only!” she called after him. Because if she didn’t, he’d try to wear Prada to the movie day, she knew.

He was a pain in her ass, but she didn’t actually miss her “do nothing, alone” plans in the slightest.

 


End file.
